


Day Trading

by Yuki1014o



Category: The Centricide (Webseries)
Genre: Ancap Has Snake Characteristics, Economics, Implied Asexual Commie, M/M, Pre-Slash, This is pretty platonic ngl, economy buddies, you don't have to know them to read this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-12
Updated: 2021-03-12
Packaged: 2021-03-19 04:01:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29993550
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yuki1014o/pseuds/Yuki1014o
Summary: Commie and Ancap go day trading. It turns pretty soft.
Relationships: Anarcho-Capitalist/Communist (Centricide), capcom - Relationship
Comments: 11
Kudos: 28





	Day Trading

**Author's Note:**

> ****Day trading** : a form of speculation in securities in which a trader buys and sells a financial instrument within the same trading day, such that all positions are closed before the market closes for the trading day to avoid unmanageable risks and negative price gaps between one day's close and the next day's price at the open.  
>  **Basically** : you buy and sell stocks within the same day. Depending how you do it, it can be very risky.
> 
>  ****Margin Trading** : Trading on margin means borrowing money from a brokerage firm in order to carry out trades. When trading on margin, investors first deposit cash that then serves as collateral for the loan, and then pay ongoing interest payments on the money they borrow. This loan increases the buying power of the investor, allowing them to buy a larger quantity of securities. The securities purchased automatically serve as collateral for the margin loan.  
>  **Basically** : you borrow money in order to buy shit, and if you lose an amount of the borrowed money, the broker that loaned it to you can take money out of your other stock holdings. It's done under the mutual assumption that you won't mess up _too_ bad.
> 
>  ****Triple Margin Trading** : basically normal margin trading except you borrowed a _lot_ of money. (The highest margin allowed by law.)
> 
>  ****High Liquidity Assets** : A liquid asset is a reference to cash on hand or an asset that can be readily converted to cash. An asset that can readily be converted into cash is similar to cash itself because the asset can be sold with little impact on its value. Ex. stocks, bonds, gold. 
> 
> Don't worry if you don't totally get it. This is a fucking centricide fanfic. You don't really have to know all that shit to enjoy it and only the first half is heavy on those terms. It really shows that I came up with this idea while learning about day trading and margin trading, huh? lmao. 
> 
> Pev!! Catbot!! I hope you guys enjoy! (and once again thanks for the inspiration that shows very clearly in the second half lol.)
> 
> **I have not even proofread this yet sorry for any typos I'll fix em...eventually.**

Commie is sitting on living room couch. The whole place is open plan, curtains open to the windows. The glass is frosted and crystal-looking. Ancap shivers at the very sight. (Gosh its so much _colder_ out here than his super-heated room. Commie keeps complaining that he’s using too much oil and electricity, but it’s not like _he’s_ the one paying their oil and electric bills. Besides—Ancap _needs_ it, he’s coldblooded. Downsides of sharing physical characteristics with snakes, he supposes.)

Bright white winter light falls in and illuminates the blood-red of Commie’s form on the couch. Aaa, Ancap hasn’t seen him all day! (Well, Ancap only left his room very early in the morning for breakfast, and he’s been busy coordinating corporate affairs all day—and it’s only noon, but point still stands.) How delightful.

Ancap skips quietly over. He’s wearing thick socks and his footsteps make no sound on the wooden floor. Commie is taller than the couch just enough so that the top of his shoulder show over the back. One, two, quiet—

Ancap wraps his arms around the statist. Commie yelps quietly and jolts just a little. Ancap leans close and rests a large amount of his weight onto the couch and Commie. His nails rest on the skin of Commie’s neck, and he can feel clearly the other’s pulse, the way it’s calming down, just a little. Commie swallows.

“Kulak.” His voice is flat and carefully blank—stiff. He’s so uptight. Ancap licks his tongue over the sharp points of his fangs.

“Red!” Ancap exclaims, just quietly enough not to hurt Commie’s ears by proximity. “Good noon! What’re you doing here in the living room, hmm?” Ancap leans even further forward, over Commie’s shoulder, peers at the screen of his laptop, and—

Ah?

Ancap is immediately taken aback. He actually..?

“...Kulak? You are that surprised? I...did not want that I do this either. I am also surprised, I suppose.”

Ancap shakes the surprise easily and lets a wide grin crawl over his face. “Commie, you’re trading stocks! That’s wonderful!”

And he means it. Honestly, it was enough of an achievement to get Commie to agree in the moment. Ancap half expected the Bolshevik to throw away the shiny new laptop Ancap gave him. Or at least to go back on his agreement—but then again, Commie has never been one for half-measures or shaky decisions, huh. (It makes him terrifying.)

(Ah. Was this a good idea? Money is power and Commie _really_ shouldn’t have any more power, but—)

Ancap tucks those concerns away for later. He’ll calculate it all out when he’s alone and back in his better environment and can think more clearly. Right now, this demands his full attention, and there’s a bubbly, excited feeling in his fingers that he can’t help but indulge.

“...Thanks,” Commie says, perhaps a beat late. He sounds awkward and unsure. “I am doing well, I think?”

The bubbly feeling rises. He’s wanted Commie to see the glories of capitalism for so _long_ , and while he has never held any hope that the other would come around (they are polar economic opposites; it is fundamentally impossible, and Ancap will not let his optimism blind him _that_ thoroughly—) he has _always_ wanted to show Commie the joy off the free market.

“Rand I could just _kiss you!_ ” Ancap doesn’t even bothering to hide the emotion from his tone. “Let me see?”

Commie’s head turns away from Ancap’s. “You will most likely be unimpressed.”

“Just your portfolio!” Ancap says, releasing his clutch from around Commie’s top and swinging himself over the back of the couch and onto it proper. Immediately misses the contact. Commie’s skin is _warm_. Like a furnace. Or a heated rock. “Just a chart—or, even just a spreadsheet! Hmm...please?”

The statist gives him a suspicious glance. “Why do you even care?”

Hmm. Lie? No reason for that. The truth might make a fun reaction, depending on his delivery. “I’m interested in everything you do,” Ancap answers, honestly.

As predicted, Commie’s face does something strange. Ancap can’t _quite_ read it though. Commie has always been better at expressing himself through action.

“I...see.” He does not see.

Ancap kind of wants to laugh. “Look, look, Red. I won’t judge any of your investments. Rand knows how many portfolios I’ve run into the negatives—in paper trading, of course! Well, a few real ones, too, but I’ve been around centuries that’s expected.”

“...да,” Commie eventually says. “See. I have...hmm, converted all my low-liquidity assets and reinvested them. Well. Also invested liquid ones.”

“...All?” Asks Ancap. “All your free value?”

“Better than let them sit around, да?”

Well. “At least you are learning,” Ancap says, “gotta keep up with that horrid inflation rate! Hold your money outside the market and it’ll automatically lose value. What’d you put it into?”

Something safe, Ancap assumes. A variety of different funds, maybe. Average beta score, low volatility. Global, perhaps? Low risk, long term reward. Perhaps a smaller cut into higher risk—

Commie hums. He looks more relaxed. Assured that Ancap is not immediately going to nitpick him as he usually would? “Day trading,” he says, “I’ve been day trading it.”

Ancap stills. “... _All_ your liquid value? And low-liquidity assets?”

“да,” Commie answers, “you know—everything that is not very important and essential or memorabilia.” That would be all the all of Commie’s accumulated wealth through the many decades, all the small things he’s acquired some way or another—old storerooms of various things. “Well. Around thirty percent into...hmm, somewhat stable funds. The rest for day trading.”

Now, here’s the thing, Ancap completely understands wanting to keep value in the market. Outside the market, it usually just rots. But he always has a large reserve, always has multi-layer securities and keeping consistent financial stability, so—

“In a day trading fund,” says Ancap, slowly, “some array of large funds, right?”

The Bolshevik shrugs. “No. Manual. I like handling things myself.”

Oh, he’s kidding.

... _Surely_ , he’s kidding.

 _Eighty percent of day traders lose money_ , Ancap wants to say—although that is a slight unfair characterization, considering a real professional _will_ know what he’s doing. But a real professional won’t—won’t put all his damn assets into _manual day trading_ , is he _insane?_ High risk, high reward, yes, but—

“Hah,” Ancap says, “anything else I should know? Specifics?”

“Hnn,” Commie says, looking pondering, “It is also on margin.”

Invisible Hand, it’s getting _worse_. How? _How?_ Ancap is going to be faint. Like, actually. Ancap usually manages _real_ companies, not just stocks. He does high risk trading, yes, but only very occasionally and mostly for fun. He likes the thrill of it. But even if he were to totally fail in it, he has such a vast reserve of other assets that it wouldn’t make any real difference.

Commie though—

There is real risk in this.

“...What margin?” Ancap finally asks, not entirely sure if he wants to know the answer.

“Triple!”

“Rand,” Ancap says, feeling almost dizzy, “you’re insane. For the first time in my entire life, I think I’m the tiniest bit glad laws exist to prevent more than triple margin.”

Commie gives him a _very_ strange look. Which, yes, that was entirely out of character for Ancap, but it was mostly jest. Mostly. “...For first time, I am little understanding of law being...hmm. Constraining. Although of course I understand reason for its existence.”

Ancap squeezes his eyes shut for just a moment. Enjoys the darkness. Processes. Shivers. It’s a tiny bit cold in here. Did Commie shut off the heating before he came down? He tries to dissipate the second-hand anxiety he’s feeling on Commie’s part. Mostly succeeds. It’s—Ancap isn’t like this, usually. When was the last time he felt anything on the behalf of _anyone?_ Irrelevant.

“Red...” He opens his eyes.

The statist is frowning at him. “Ancap…?”

Ancap mentally reviews their conversation one more time. “Red...you...do realize that is….not normal. That kind of risk is insane.”

“Of course I know it’s high risk.” Commie frowns harder. “That is just market, да?”

 _Rand_.

“ _No_ ,” Ancap says, just a bit pitched and indignant. “No—no. The market is...well, a lot of things, but _play the long game_. It’s a puzzle of patience. You can’t just—just—”

“Don’t tell me _you_ are risk adverse,” Commie says, looking taken aback and realizing. “That—makes sense, actually. You have always been coward. I thought—when it comes to market... You are scared?” Pause. “You are scared!”

Ancap _feels_ his defensiveness snap out. It shouldn’t affect him. It does. Commie’s always had a way of grating on him. “I am most certainly _not_. I have never feared the free market.”

“Really?” Commie asks, rhetorically, looking delighted. His wheat-gold eyes ( _the best part of his face!_ ) glint brightly. “It does not look so! I am better at this than you!”

Ancap wants to bite him. Wants to bite that stupid condescending expression right off his face. Doesn’t. That would be against the NAP. Instead, he reminds himself that this must be something along the lines of the Dunning–Kruger effect, and—

“How is wrong?” The statist asks. “So upset you are afraid of your own capitalism?”

“Don’t pretend You know more about this than me,” Ancap snaps, baring his fangs just a little—watches with some satisfaction as Commie’s eyes flick warily down. “You can’t beat me at _my own game_.”

“Then prove it,” Commie says. “You are risk adverse.”

(This feels a little familiar. Hmm—ah, a little similar to how Ancap taunted Commie into doing stocks in the first place huh. He’s matching.)

The irritation mounts. “Fine!”

The statist hums. “Okay.”

A beat.

Ah. He agreed.

Ancap...really needs to organize his emotions better. Maybe it’s the cold. Make the best of this. He huffs. “If I’m doing this, then you’re getting a lesson on actual long-term trading. I’ll even teach it for free.”

Commie laughs, just a little. “Free? Uncharacteristic. Fine.”

“Good,” Ancap crosses his arms, drums his fingers on his suit. “I’ll go get my computer, one second.”

Ancap goes to his room. Retrieves his laptop. Pauses at the door and glances longingly towards his bed. It’s so _cold_ outside. He really should’ve chosen a house in the tropics, like he usually does. He picks up a blanket, too.

“Back,” he says, settling back onto the couch. “What time is it?”

Commie gives the blanket a strange look, glances back to his screen and hums. “Twelve thirty eight.”

Hmm. That gives them just under three and a half hours till the market closes at four. That’s fine. Ancap opens his laptop and flexes his finger over the keyboard. Opens onto his portfolio. Aaa, even with the blanket, it’s still somewhat cold out here. He should’ve brought a heating pad—

Hmm.

Ancap slides a little closer to Commie. Then closer, close enough to press his leg against Commie’s and—yeah. That’s warmer. The statist gives him a _very_ odd expression, looks like he’s going to ask something. Ancap decides to beat him to it.

“Forward me a list of everything you’re currently in. I’ll add to it. First lets see your portfolio...”

Commie hums and pulls something up on laptop, slides it over. A chart of his portfolio. Ancap studies the proportions. Ah. Hmm. That. “...You’re a millionaire already, Commie?”

A nod. “ да. I have tried.”

Oh _wonderful_. He’s a fast learner! “Congratulations.”

“...Thanks,” says Commie, and Ancap grins wide enough for it to split his face.

So they...work. Light filters brightly through the frosted windows. Ancap references a few indexes, adds to the list, adds to the holdings. Advises when to pull out. And Commie...listens attentively, adds his own input, and—

It’s rather nice, actually.

Minutes tick on. Ancap monitors various stocks with a split tab view. Commie does more research on the side. Frown. “Red, this one—”

“No, don’t sell that one,” Commie says, “temporary downtick, I think.”

Ancap raises a brow. “We have barely thirty minutes left before the market closes.”

“This stock goes after-hours.”

He blinks once, twice. Realizes. “ _No_ ,” says Ancap, “we are not going after hours. Ever heard of a schedule? Work-life balance?”

The statist’s expression pinches. “But—”

“No,” says Ancap, “I have stuff to do later, and three hours of manual daytrading is _quite_ enough. Tell you what, we’ll sell this one last, but no after-hours.”

“You’re so _boring_ ,” Commie says, but it sounds like concession.

“Deal with it.”

The statist sighs. Ancap keeps glancing at the time, feeling his stress rise with every passing moment. Sell this, sell that—what’s the right order? He’s so used to having this done by algorithm and pre-planned order.

Three fifty five, fifty six, fifty seven—“Done!” Ancap announces, and feels his whole self relax. He leans back into the couch.

“Mm,” Commie hums. “Still think we should’ve gone after hours.”

“Cope.” Ancap feels... _tired_. A little sluggish. He yawns. Shivers. Glances at the windows. Squints. Through his shades and the frost, he can’t quite tell if it’s snowing outside. Ancap inches even further into Commie’s space. The statist leans a bit away, tries to minimize contact. Hmm. Non-aggression. Ancap withdraws, although he dislikes the loss of warmth. He _does_ have principals. Gives Commie a questioning look.

“Err,” says Commie, “it is—you know?”

Ancap lets a pout tug at his expression. “But you’re _warm_.”

Commie’s eyes flick towards the blanket. A break expression of realization crosses his face. “It is not about…?”

“Oh _Red_ ,” Ancap sighs, drawing back further, just in case, “I know you’re a narcissistic statist, but not _everything_ I do revolves around trying to get ahold of that gorgeous body or acquiring those pretty eyes... No no, I just forgot to pick up a heating pad.”

A beat.

Commie’s language relaxes, just a little. Ancap studiously documents the changes in posture. A quiet huff. “So I’m mere heating pad to you?”

Ancap grins. “More of a warm rock with horribly annoying tendencies!”

Commie sighs and leaves his posture open. Ancap creeps over, presses closer than before. Is careful not to seems suggestive. He’ll always be careful about this, after all.

“Who knew infamous individualist capitalist snake would really need others for warmth, hmm?”

Ancap suddenly wants to elbow him. Restrains himself from anything that blatant. Intentional physical harm like that would definitely be a violation of the NAP. Instead, he climbs practically half on top of Commie and soaks the heat more thoroughly.

Commie grimaces. “You’re _bony_.”

Ancap pulls the blanket over them both. Much better. “I’ll have you know many people would _pay_ to be within a few feet of me.”

“...They’re fools.”

“Aww!” Ancap bats his eyes at him, before remembering his face is still covered by shades. “You don’t like me at all? No desire?”

Commie looks long suffering. “You already know answer to that. There’s nothing even remotely well about you. Worst person I can conceive. I’d rather you just died.”

“You’re so _mean_ ,” Ancap sighs, but he expected the answer, and just yawns. Sinks deeper into Commie’s form. Wishes for a moment that he took the form of an _actual_ snake and could coil himself fully around the other. “For the record, it’s the exact same on my side!”

A hum. It thrums through the statist’s chest. Ancap relaxes into it and closes his eyes. Cold air bites at his eyes and his feet, which are unfortunately left out in the cold. Some time passes. Ancap isn’t exactly sure how long, despite his habit of counting seconds.

Commie shifts a little. “...How’s up with you? I thought you were busy?”

Ancap peeks open his eyes open. “Yeah. A bit more to do before sleeping. Just...tired.”

“...It’s four fifteen in afternoon.”

“I stayed up very late last night. Didn’t get much sleep. And it’s cold.”

Commie tilts his head. “When did you sleep?”

“Almost 9PM,” Ancap sighs, “Woke up at around five thirty.”

“...Kulak, that is more than _eight hours_ of sleep. Not few.”

“I usually get ten.”

Something shifts. Commie pinches the bridge of his nose. “Worker gets maybe six hours and you are here with ten.”

“Mhmm.”

“Not even _pretending_ to work harder or ‘deserve it’?”

“Hey,” Ancap says, debating whether to spew some bullshit or not. But—no. Commie is never someone that Ancap will be able to draw onto his side. There’s no point in pretty lies. “Work smart, not hard. If they can’t figure that out then they absolutely deserve it. Besides, snakes need a lot of sleep.”

“This is snake thing?”

“Mmm.” He shifts a little, looks up. Commie’s gold eyes are glittering down at him. They really _are_ pretty things. Wheat-gold, gold as the yellow sickle, gold as bitcoin. He glances at the windows. Still can’t tell if it’s snowing outside. Takes off his shades. Immediately winces. _Bright_. He can now tell that it’s snowing out, though. “It’s snowing.”

“...Yeah,” says Commie, but when Ancap looks over, the statist isn’t looking out the windows, he’s looking at Ancap with something close to fascination on his face. What? Ancap blinks once, jolts. _Oh_.

Right. What is he _thinking?_ There’s a reason Ancap never takes his glasses off around Commie. His skin pricks uncomfortably, self-consciously. Ancap’s eyes are ruby-red. He _knows_ Commie sees red as a marking of _his_. Of submission and belonging. Ancap is _not_.

He hides his face in Commie’s shirt. The statist makes a small, longing sound.

“Wait, I can’t—”

Ancap gives him a middle finger. “I know you’re unreasonably possessive of anything red, but those are mine.”

“...” A long moment. Commie starts to say something, stops. “...Please?”

Ancap stills.

 _Please_.

Ideologies do not subject themselves to the mercy of one another. Commie does not say _please_ to Ancap in any genuine sense of the word. Oh that’s _strange_. It’s throwing him off.

“...Pay me twenty.” He doesn’t really expect the statist to agree.

“...”

“...”

“...Okay,” Commie eventually says, and it throws Ancap off even harder. But an agreement is an agreement, so—

Ancap looks up. They stare at each other. Commie’s eyes are the brilliant glinting gold of hidden troves and bitcoin. His skin pricks. Commie’s neck is exposed. His immediate defensive reflex is to bite it. That would be a violation of the NAP.

A beat, two.

“Pass my glasses?” Ancap asks.

Commie nods, reaches out and collects them from the coffee table, hesitates only a moment in giving them to Ancap’s waiting hand. Ancap slips them back over his face. Feels just a little more relaxed. Sighs quietly.

“We should do this again,” says Commie, abruptly. “It was a little fun.”

“Next time,” Ancap says, “we’re doing it in my room where I’m not going to be _cold_ the entire time. And I’ll show you an actual good long term investment plan.”

Commie huffs but nods anyway. A wave of premature excitement bubbles up in Ancap’s chest. “You’re irritating.”

“And you’re loathsome,” Ancap smiles, “I absolutely cannot wait to abolish your damned state one day.”

“An authoritarian state a day keeps the corporation away,” Commie says—obviously a sentence he’s been pondering for a while, because he’s actually using articles. Ancap huffs, and only leans in.

The authoritarian makes a movement to wrap his arm around Ancap. Abruptly aborts the gesture. Good. At least he’s learning. That—that’s unexpectedly considerate of him, actually. And maybe that, more than anything, lets Ancap become as relaxed as he’ll ever be around the statist.

“You’ll have to actually _establish_ the state before I leave,” says Ancap, resting himself fully against Commie again. He runs his tongue over his teeth. Sharp. “Until then...I think I will stay right here.”

**Author's Note:**

> I’m not totally satisfied with the end but I hope it wasn’t too terrible! Uhhh, I hope this was enjoyable in general. I tried but I am gkurgkdyubg not sure ;o;
> 
> per usual, constructive criticism is welcome and comments are super appreciated! They make me very happy haha


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